Miss Harting, being keen of perception, noticed this, and her smile faded.
“You don’t really mean that?” she said abruptly.
Elgin spread out his hands depreciatingly. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he returned. “A fellow can’t help having his opinions, you know. Let’s change the subject.”
“But I don’t want to change the subject,” she retorted warmly. “I insist on your telling me why you don’t agree with me.”
The pitcher’s long lashes drooped over his eyes, and he bit his lip.
“I knew Hazelton very well at college,” he began slowly. “We were friends until—certain things—came up which showed me—” he threw back his head, and looked her full in the eyes. “I can’t do it!” he burst out. “Please don’t ask me, Miss Harting. I’ve said more now than I should have. No matter what my opinion of him may be, I won’t talk about a fellow behind his back.”
His attitude of manly embarrassment was so well done that the girl was completely deceived. She was angry at herself for having led the conversation into this channel, but her estimation of this man who would say nothing against another with whom he was evidently not on friendly terms, increased by leaps and bounds.
They chatted on various other topics for a little while, but the conversation could not fail to be slightly constrained, and Elgin soon took his leave.
After he had gone Janet Harting returned to the parlor and stood for a space leaning thoughtfully against the mantel.